by John Ringo
The base had been formed in response to the apparent intended invasion from Ropasa and it was a scene of remarkable industry.
There were twelve large piers, each of which was in use by a veritable fleet of small vessels. Most of the vessels seemed to be barges and lighters that were carrying material from the interior, but a few were larger sailing vessels that had probably reached the base by sailing up or down the coast. Herzer recalled that to the north were the growing cities of Balmoran and Manan, either of which might have sent the ships.
The material being unloaded from the ships made its way to a set of warehouses lining the waterways. From the warehouses some of it spread to support the rest of the base. There were foundries that provided the iron-work for the ships, saw mills that roughed the trees that were rapidly being turned into hulls and masts, rope manufactories that took the rough hemp from the interior and made it into strong manila lines, and sail-factories where heavy cosilk bolts were sewn into the vast sails needed for the growing ships.
But all of it paled to the efforts of the shipyards themselves.
The wyverns had been parked at the edge of the shipyards along the Gem River. On every side ship hulls lying on ways were in the process of being built, surrounded by scaffolding. From every direction came the sound of sawing and hammering, and besides the smell of tidal marshes there was an overpowering smell of curing wood and sawdust.
And all of it was contributing to the unease of the wyverns.
The platters were large, over a meter in diameter, with raised edges and metal handles. The smell from the steaming mess they contained mixed with the stench of the tidal marshes to create an aroma that Herzer found truly nauseating.
But what he really wanted at this moment, rather than a mask to cut the stench, was his armor. Those wyverns had big teeth.
“What’s in this?” he asked, lifting one side of the platter as Jerry took the other. Herzer probably could have lifted one himself but it for most riders it was a two-person job.
“Offal, soybeans, vegetable oil and ketchup,” Jerry said. “Now they know the smell of this stuff and they don’t like it. So they’re going to be inclined to get a bite of fresh meat. We stop just outside of lunge range and slide it to them. On three.”
“Ketchup?” Herzer asked.
“They like ketchup. One, two…”
From behind them there was a roar and Joanna landed to the side in a blast of wind.
“Cut it out!” she bellowed, leaning over to peck the nearest wyvern on the back. The wyvern ducked its head to the ground and got as close as it could to scraping its belly, letting out a faint mewing sound.
“Now feed ’em,” Joanna bellowed, pecking at another of the wyverns that had leaned towards the platters. “I need you guys alive.”
Jerry and Herzer crabbed forward and dropped the platter under the wyvern’s nose and then picked up another and dropped it in front of Chauncey. By that time the other three had been fed as well.
Like it or not the wyverns immediately buried their nose in the mess, sucking at it since it had little in the way of texture.
“Well, that’s done,” Jerry sighed. “Now we check them over.”
The dragon’s pebbly skin was fairly strong but it could be badly gouged by a misplaced strap. Jerry, with Vickie occasionally giving acerbic advice, showed Herzer how to check for gouges or scrapes. They then spent some time working on Chauncey, trimming his toenails. Jerry had a large set of bolt cutters for the job but Herzer gently lifted one of the talons and inserted the tip into his clamp.
“They’re strong,” Jerry said.
“Not a problem,” Herzer said. “Probably.” Herzer flexed his forearm and the tip of the nail flew off with a “snick” sound.
“Cool,” Jerry said. “Very useful.”
“Also opens bottles and makes julienne fries,” Herzer said with a grimace. “I’d rather have a hand.”
“How’s it work?”
“If I grasp like I’m grabbing with forefinger and thumb it clamps,” Herzer said. “If I grasp with middle and ring finger it engages the cutters. If I pull with the pinkie it engages a gear on the cutters and the clamps. Gives me about six times the grip or cutting strength.”
“Did you use the clamp?”
“Nope, didn’t need it,” Herzer said, running his hand up Chauncey’s leg as he cut the other nails. “That’s done this one.”
“Chauncey’s one of our newer wyverns,” Jerry explained as Herzer worked on the other talons. “He’s just out of the rookery but since he’s biddable and didn’t have a designated rider and we were told we needed one spare we brought him along despite the fact that he’s not full grown.”
“Big enough,” Herzer said. “How fast do they grow?”
“Ten years to get this big,” Jerry said. “He’ll add another sixty, maybe eighty kilos before he stops in another ten.”
“Ten years?” Herzer said. “Then… he was born before the Fall?”
“Yeah,” Jerry said with a smile. “Nobody’s been able to do time travel yet. There was a wyvern racing league; we came from that.”
“I’d thought that Sheida had had them bred,” Herzer said then paused. “Why did you join up?”
“Well, we had to keep them fed somehow,” Jerry replied with a shrug, giving Chauncey a last wipe with a rag. “And between Sheida and New Destiny there wasn’t much choice, was there?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Herzer answered honestly. “I… I was involved with some folks that were allied with New Destiny at first. I didn’t know they were until after I’d left. They weren’t very good people even before that, though.”
“Well, I joined up with Sheida almost immediately,” Jerry said. “I had a rookery near her home in the Teron mountains. After the Fall I flew over and she saw the benefit immediately. So I and a couple of others flew around to the rookeries and recruited.”
“Where did Joanna come from?” Herzer asked.
“I don’t know. Sheida found her someplace.”
“Do you mind her… sort of being in charge?”
“Not at all,” Jerry replied with a shrug. “She’s like a god to the wyverns, which helps as you might have noticed. And when she gets into a battle the other side doesn’t have much of a chance. The wyverns really aren’t very good at fighting; all they can do is bite or claw down, and when they do they lose airspeed. Joanna goes through the enemy like a mechanical reaper. She can really use that tail for some serious damage. I’m glad she’s on our side.”
Herzer and Jerry were gathering up the rags and cutters when Herzer spotted Rachel picking her way through the wyverns. The dragons had settled down after their feed but a few of them hissed at her as she passed.
Rachel ignored them, making a beeline for Herzer. When she got close she stood with her hands on her hips and shook her head.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding?” she asked. “I thought you were happy in the infantry?”
“I am,” Herzer admitted. “But we’re going to be working with the dragons a lot. I figured it was a good idea to get to know them as well as possible.”
“Well, Father thinks it’s a good idea if you two attend the mission briefing, whatever that means,” Rachel said. “Which is why I’m here.”
“Are we done?” Herzer asked.
“Done enough,” Jerry answered. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER NINE
Joel had permitted the enthusiastic ensign to recruit him; it seemed like the simplest way to manage the insertion given the complications. Ensign Weilis had even picked up the ticket from Tenerie to Newfell. So after arriving at Newfell Base, the ensign led him to the recruiting station and then took off to report for duty.
Joel shook his head at that, wondering at many levels about the ensign’s naiveté. They had stopped overnight south of Washan, staying at one of the coaching inns; the price of the cramped room was included in the fare. So it had been midmorning by the time they arrived. Technically,
the ensign did not have to report until just before midnight the day of his arrival. If he reported now, he’d either sit around in an office all day or be assigned busywork until somebody figured out what to do with him tomorrow.
The other level of concern about Weilis’ naiveté was Joel’s conviction that whoever was running counterintel couldn’t find their ass with both hands. The ensign had gladly told him all of his duties in Balmoran and some of what he thought he would be doing in Newfell. In fact, the kid was such a chatterbox, Joel now knew half the story of his life. He either had his cover down pat, or he was an idiot. No, the kid wasn’t an idiot, he’d been trained by idiots. And that was worse.
Joel shook his head again and opened up the door to the recruiting office. There was a desk in the room with two comfortable chairs placed in front of it. Behind the desk was a stern-faced older guy in a uniform just about covered in medals. His face broke into a friendly grin when Joel came through the door.
“Hello there, son,” the NCO boomed, coming to his feet and walking around the desk. “Glad to see you, I’m Chief Rishell, but you can call me Chief.”
“Hi, Chief,” Joel said. When the chief limpingly cleared the desk it became apparent why he was behind it; his right leg was gone from the knee down. “Got bad news for you, I think this must be the recruiting office, right?”
“That’s right, son,” the chief said, pumping his hand. “It’s a man’s life in the Navy, but we only take the best. Good strong hands there — you working as a plow-hand before?”
“No, Chief,” Joel said. “The point is, that nice young lieutenant directed me here. I’m looking for receiving.”
“You already got recruited?” the chief replied, dropping Joel’s hand.
“Yeah, I used to work fishing boats, before and after the Fall,” Joel replied with a grin. “They said something about making me a petty officer.”
The chief looked at him with a blank expression for a moment, then pointed to his left.
“Receiving’s three buildings down.”
“Gotcha, Chief,” Joel said, trying not to grin.
“You on orders?” the chief asked, looking at his shabby traveling clothes.
“Verbal is what they told me,” Joel replied with a shrug. “Basically they swore me in and put me on a stage coach for Newfell.”
“Hmmm…” The chief peered at him for a second and then went back behind his desk. “Siddown, son.”
Joel did so, cocking his head to the side.
“The thing is, you’re not required to report until just before midnight,” the chief said with a slight frown. “If you go over there this time of day, they won’t have any way to use you. They might tell you to take off and take care of personal business. But they’ll probably put you on some temporary detail nobody wants to do, like raking grass or shoveling shit. Now, everybody has to do those sometimes, anyway. But there’s no damned reason to put yourself in the way of them, if you know what I mean.”
“I appreciate that,” Joel said. “But I don’t know what there is to do.”
“If you’ve got any cash, I’d suggest going over to the Post Exchange. They’ve got a snack bar and there’s even books you can buy now in the PX. Maybe take a walk around the base, but if you’re out of uniform people are going to ask you questions and if you run into some officious young prick he’s gonna tell you to report in right away. Go get a book and some lunch and find an out-of-the way spot to hide. I’m only letting you in on this, you realize, ’cause you’re a fellow sailor.”
“Thanks, Chief,” Joel said, rising. “Can I ask you what happened to the leg?”
The chief looked at him intensely for a moment, then shrugged.
“Got a line caught around it in a gale off Cape Far,” the chief said. “Just remember, the sea, she’s a mother.”
“Been there, done that, Chief,” the spy replied. “Take care.”
“Sure,” the chief replied as he walked out the door. “You too.”
Joel found the PX and, sure enough, there were some books. He had no idea of authors or titles so he simply picked the one with the most lurid cover. It was as bad as he’d expected. It was the “true” story of Raven’s Mill’s defense against one of New Destiny’s proxies in the first year after the Fall. It centered, to an almost mind-numbing degree, on the training of the Blood Lords. On the other hand, if there was any accuracy, he needed to talk to their trainers. They already had a functional nucleus of professional training going and if the spy school he had in mind ever got off the ground, some training along the same lines would be useful.
The book, however, was another story. No way was he letting the writer anywhere near anything that he did. The guy introduced characters for no particular reason and then killed them off, just when he was getting to like them. Sure, it was a real story and the people really died, but give it a rest. He also had clunky prose and a really strange sense of humor. This guy was never going to win any awards.
On the other hand, it was a page turner and the snack bar guy had to throw him out when they closed. He tucked the book away, unsure whether to burn it or finish it later, and headed over to receiving, still chuckling. He hoped that this idiot never got ahold of his life story. He’d probably kill him off, just when everybody was getting to like him.
* * *
Herzer and Jerry followed Rachel back towards the headquarters and Herzer took the opportunity to have a closer look at the shipbuilding. There were more than a dozen ships under construction, ranging from a small boat that probably was meant to be used in the bay all the way up to a massive vessel, fully sixty meters long. The latter only had its frames up, but it was clearly designed to be fast and powerful. He had no clue what it was going to look like when completed but it had the look of a warship.
Behind the warehouses there was another row of buildings on slightly higher ground. Most of the structures were extremely rough, obviously made in the first rush of building after the Fall. Some of them were already being torn down for materials; the large tree sections that had been used to construct the early cabins could be sawn into wood to make three buildings out of one. One of them, however, was having additional construction added on and it was to that one that Rachel led them.
“This is the base headquarters,” Rachel told them as they approached through streams of workmen and sailors in blue trousers and off-white shirts. “It’s also Fleet headquarters for the time being. They’re a bit bunched up.”
“I can imagine,” Herzer said, chuckling. They were having much the same problem in Raven’s Mill with the Academy and the Overjay local defense headquarters occupying the same suite of buildings. “What gets me is how many people there are here; it must be two or three times the number in Raven’s Mill. And that’s more than there were in Harzburg. Most of them are prime soldier material and we’re dying for soldiers!”
“From what I picked up in the headquarters they’ve been filtering in from the north and south ever since the Fall,” Rachel said as they approached the entrance. The two guards in blue uniforms saluted Herzer as they passed and he gave them a wave in return. “There’s a lot of emphasis being put on getting a fleet built.”
“Well, I’d rather fight Paul’s forces at sea than on land,” Herzer admitted. “So I won’t begrudge it.”
She led them through the building to an office in the rear that was part of a recent addition; the air was still thick with the smell of sawdust and the stud-covered walls were weeping sap.
The party from Raven’s Mill was grouped around a desk, behind which sat a short-coupled man with a heavy tan and a shock of iron gray hair that had been cut short on top and to stubble on the sides. He had cold blue eyes that searched the newcomers unhappily.
“Lieutenant Herzer Herrick, Jerry Riadou, this is Skipper Shar Chang. His rank is colonel in the Free States forces. He’s the skipper of the Bonhomme Richard, which is going to be conveying us to the islands. Skipper, Jerry is the senior dragon-rider and Herzer
is one of my officers who is acting as my aide in this mission.”
“Sir,” Herzer said, snapping to attention and rendering a salute.
“General Talbot outranks me, Lieutenant,” the colonel said, dryly. “One of the many wonderful aspects of this mission.”
“You’re in charge of the ship, Skipper,” Talbot said, calmly. “We’re just along for the ride.”
“The dragons aren’t,” Chang replied. “Let me explain to you all the problems we’ve got to deal with. The Richard is a brand-new ship, a dragon-carrier and the first one to be launched. It’s specifically designed to support dragons. The first problem is that we’ve had to design it in theory, since these are the first wyvern we’ve had on the base. She’s designed to carry thirty-six wyvern and their riders or four great dragons and a support team at sea for one hundred days. The five wyverns and one great dragon are going to rattle around in her like peas in a pod but that’s the good news. We’ve just completed builder’s trials. There are problems left to fix. She hasn’t had a shakedown cruise. Her rigging needs adjustment. Dragon support is going to need adjustment. And in the midst of all of this we’re tasked with this high-priority mission. You begin to see why I’m so enthusiastic.”
“I can understand that, sir,” Jerry interjected. “We were informed that the mission had both aspects in mind, working out doctrine and supporting the diplomatic mission. We’ll do it, sir. We have to.”
“Agreed. What’s your rank, son?” the skipper asked.
“Well…” Jerry temporized. “We don’t actually have ranks as such. I’m just the most senior guy. In most cases, I defer to Joanna when she’s around.”
“Grand,” Chang sighed. “So you’re not officially members of the UFS forces?”
“We are, sir,” Jerry replied, cautiously. “At least, that’s how we get paid. But the subject of ranks has never been raised. We just go where Sheida tells us and do what we can. We’ve done combat missions, sir. It’s not been a problem.”